Giving comfort
by ninjanervana
Summary: A Blackhawk one-shot inspired by this headcanon: When Clint is hurt and stuck in the medical wing of S.H.I.E.L.D, Natasha will visit him. Sometimes she lies down next to him in his hospital bed and sings him songs in Russian. Although she's trying to comfort him, it's a comfort to her as well. Fluffy one-shot. I do not own anything


Hello readers. i'm sure you've all notice that is not a new chapter for "A bouncing bundle of thunder." I've just had this story idea rattling around my brain for so long i decided to actually write it down and post it. It was inspired by this headcanon i read.

_When Clint is hurt and stuck in the medical wing of S.H.I.E.L.D, Natasha will visit him. Sometimes she lies down next to him in his hospital bed and sings him songs in Russian. Although she's trying to comfort him, it's a comfort to her as well._

So read this short one shot and let me know what you all think! Remember i do not own anything

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Natasha was furious, gritting her teeth as she walked down the halls of the medical wing of S.H.I.E.L.D. On the outside, she appeared somewhat calm, but on the inside her blood was boiling with anger._ 'Maybe I don't look too calm,' _Natasha thought as a crowd of agents parted quickly as she approached them, giving her a clear path through. She had no idea what she looked like, whether she looked like a disaster from the mission she had just returned from or whether the homicidal anger she felt was plain on her face. She wanted to lash out at someone, at anyone, to have some way of letting out all the rage bottled inside of her.

She _told_ Director Fury it was a bad idea to send them on separate missions. She and Clint were partners; sure they could work fine with other people, but they didn't work as well as when they did together. She told Clint she had a bad feeling, some nagging instinct that told her it was a bad idea to be separated from him. But she trusted that Clint could take care of himself. She'd seen him in action multiple times; she knew what he could do and she knew he could take care of himself. So like the good agent she always was, she let it go and went on her mission as he went on his.

And what did she get for not following her instinct? A phone call from Phil when she was still two hours away from S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters saying Clint got caught in a bomb explosion. The last thing Clint said to her before they left for their missions was be careful; it figured that he would be the one to get injured. Sure Natasha was a little worse for wear, she had a few scraps and bruises she would feel more in the morning, but she wasn't laying unconscious in a hospital bed. She wasn't the one who had to be airlifted back to headquarters. To hear Clint got hurt while trying to get all of the agents out wasn't surprising; she always told him that he had a heart of gold. Now she was worried sick over him.

She finally reached his hospital room, taking a steadying breath before she opened the door. She had no idea what she would find when she opened the door; the mere fact that Coulson had called her to tell her Clint was injured sent her heart into palpitations. "Agent Romanoff," the doctor standing near Clint's bed said as she entered the room. "Agent Coulson told me I should be expecting you. Please come in."

Natasha closed the room door, slowly approaching the bed. "How is he?"

"Oh he'll be alright with a lot of time and rest," the doctor replied. "The explosion really did a number on him. He's got a mild concussion, a fractured left arm, three broken ribs and a punctured lung."

"Never could do things little huh Clint," Natasha muttered, settling herself into a chair near his bed.

"Don't worry Agent Romanoff; he'll be better in no time," the doctor said, leaving her alone in Clint's room. "He should wake up within the next few hours."

Natasha slipped her hand into his, the steady beeping of the heart rate monitor filling the silence of the room. Normally when one of them ended up in the medical wing, the room was filled with noise: with laughter and teasing jokes, with stories and quiet talking. There would even be singing when someone would be kept overnight. Clint started the tradition, singing Hallelujah to her late one night. They crossed the gamut of musical genres, from top 40 songs to classic rock and everything in between. Natasha stroked her thumb across the back of Clint's hand, humming softly. Who knew how long it would be until he woke up.

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The first thing Clint was aware of as he regained consciousness was the burning pain along his ribs. The second thing was something gently stroking his hand and soft humming. He slowly opened his eyes, squinting from the bright overhead lights. "Tasha?" he mumbled tiredly, squeezing her hand slightly.

"Finally, I thought you were never gonna wake up," Natasha said, smiling slightly. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got thrown out a window," Clint said, groaning as he shifted slightly.

"Were you thrown out a window?"

"I don't even know," Clint replied, shaking his head slightly. "My head is killing me."

"A concussion will do that to you," Natasha said. "You also broke a few ribs, punctured a lung and fractured your left arm."

"Is that all?" Clint said sarcastically. "I'll be ready to start another mission morning then."

"Yeah, like Phil would let you do that; he probably has you listed for medical leave already," Natasha replied.

"Then I guess I might as well stay here if there's no rush," Clint said tiredly, closing his eyes. "How come I didn't get any singing? I always sing to you."

"You've been asleep for the past few hours; how do you know I haven't been singing the entire time?"

"Doesn't count if I'm not awake to hear it. If I didn't hear it, it didn't happen."

"You're definitely spending too much time around Stark," Natasha said dryly.

"Come on, you know you want to sing for me," Clint said, scooting over slightly and patting the empty space beside him.

Natasha rolled her eyes as she climbed onto the bed, careful not to jostle him. She resisted the urge to sigh in contentment as Clint slid his un-injured arm behind her head. "What do you wanna hear?"

"I don't know," Clint said, yawning. "Can you sing me something in Russian?"

"Why?" Natasha asked, curious.

"The songs sound nice when you sing in Russian," Clint replied, closing his eyes. "Soothing."

"You won't be awake long enough to hear it," Natasha said softly. "You're already falling asleep."

"I'll stay awake long enough to hear you start at least; maybe I'll hear it in my dreams." Natasha smiled but said nothing, starting her song instead. She didn't stop singing until she was positive Clint was sleeping deeply. She closed her eyes, the day's exhaustion washing over her. At least Clint was comforted, and that comforted her too.

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Reviews please!


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